The Dragon Which Was Once a Rabbit
by LunarBaku
Summary: A series of one-shots connected. In this series we look upon Mokuba Kaiba, and his experiences within the Kaiba Mansion prior to Seto taking over. Each "chapter" will have warnings in the notes, as this is a rather dark series written to vent.
1. Fairy Tale

**Author's Note:**

**This chapter marks the beginning, and is a fairytale look into what the series will cover. Warnings for the entire series are as follows; child sexual abuse, child trafficking, CP, child abuse, bestiality, blood, animal injury, and abuse**

**Please remember that this is meant to be fictional! I write it to deal with my own trauma. Please head the warnings, and if you are here to, ahem, get "off", I ask that you please remove yourself from here. This isn't for you. This is for me, and for survivors like me, who want to scream our pain to the heavens. For those who just want to read for the hell of it, go for it, but take care for your mental health.**

**I used to have this on AO3 but people who are actively into this stuff to get, ahem, "off", started to interact with me ;A;**

* * *

There is a dragon, whose sharp scales are black as night, who sits proudly on a throne of silver, a throne that was once not his. There is a dragon, feathers dressing his head and neck like a mane, who bows to none but a dragon of white and eyes of blue. There is a dragon, with eyes of violet, who was once not a prince, but the dirt beneath even the most filthiest of men.

There once was a rabbit, whose white fur was softer than the finest silk, who sat among the commoners. There was once a rabbit, who wore a red cloak and hood, that frolicked in the woods without care, away from caring eyes of blue. There was once a rabbit, pure and innocent, who knew nothing of the horrors of the world.

There was once a wolf, made of the thickest smoke, who sat on a throne of lies, deception, and the dead. There was once a wolf, prowling deep in the woods, following the smell of something sweet, of something not yet touched by harsh reality. There was once a wolf, cruel yet ingenious, who trapped a rabbit, whose white fur was softer than the finest silk, who wore a red cloak and hood, innocent and pure, in his jaws.

There once was a dragon that was a rabbit.

* * *

There was once a dragon of white and blue, who cared for a rabbit, whose white fur was softer than the finest silk, who wore a red cloak and hood, innocent and pure. There was once a dragon, eyes sharper than glass, who growled at all who came near, who came to bully the rabbit. There was once a dragon, who loved this rabbit like a sister, who wailed in agony on the day she disappeared in her life, comforted only by an oddly shaped toad, who told him it was all because of the wolf of smoke, who controlled the woods, who was too powerful for the dragon to take on. There was once a dragon who challenged that idea, and with the toad's help, accepting every whip upon his wings, every insult, every night without sleep, to become strong.

* * *

In the labyrinth of thorns and bones lies a throne of gold, a rabbit laid grisly on top like a sacrifice. Her cloak and hood were torn, the cloth scattered between her thighs, glued to the fur by slobber. The wolf of smoke, eyes dark like the abyss, trailed down his prey's small body, to the wet fur of her thighs, and felt the primal urge to dominate, to mar her with his scent until she was known by all to belong to him. He nudged her open, relishing in the scared whine from her unconscious body. She was the finest rabbit he had ever come upon, so young, so perfect and ripe. He could imagine the droves of predators coming to his den, begging for a smell, a _taste _, of this fine wine. Perhaps they would bring him the fruits of their hunts, and in turn, he could allow them to mark her thighs the same way he does.

In the labyrinth of horror and pain, lying in a bed of leaves, was a rabbit with red smeared on her thighs, violet eyes hazy as a figure emerged from the shadows, a lion with the thickest mane she'd ever seen, stalk towards her. The wolf of smoke watched, as he always did, while the lion consumed her, moaning and groaning as he enjoyed his meal. He paid his due, left, and another predator emerged. The routine never changed, never stuttered, and whatever was desired she gave. Sometimes, as she was consumed, she would think of the dragon of white and eyes of blue, hoping that he was safe. She knew the wolf of smoke, whose path strayed far from the roads of morality, would have eyes on him, grooming him into a false sense of hope that he would be the next king of the forest, that the rabbit he knew and loved was far gone, to push forward and let nothing hold him back.

The rabbit, whose white fur was stained red and yellow, did not ask. She was not allowed. She was only there to be consumed, to be a relief to the wolf of smoke, who was full of rage, who only knew how to cope by digging teeth and claws into his prey again and again, licking the wounds afterwards, apologizing. She was too perfect, he would growl, and he hated and loved that she was. She deserved to break in his jaws, for her weak bones to crack and break, for her to cry silently, for her to thank him afterwards, because the wolf of smoke only did what was best for her. The outside world was too dangerous, but here, with him, she was safe, worshiped, to be consumed only by those who were worthy enough.

* * *

The day the dragon, whose scales were brighter than the sun, tore the forest down to find her, the rabbit realized that the wolf never loved her, not like _he _did. The dragon had always seen her as his equal, took her under his wing, called her his sister, though she was just a lowly rabbit compared to the majestic dragon he was. The crackle of lightning, a sound the rabbit previously hid from in the thick smoke of the wolf, was music to her torn ears. The dragon, eyes blue, darkened like a storm over the ocean, set the labyrinth of thorns and bones ablaze, roaring a challenge to the wolf. The throne was only big enough for one of them, and the tyranny of the wolf had come to a standstill. Claws slashed, teeth tore, and soon the throne was bloodied with the oily substance that had been the wolf. As the dragon took the throne, he looked upon the prey of the forest, and wept. All of the animals had suffered under the wolf, and the animal he had searched for the most, had driven himself to the very edge of his sanity for, was nowhere to be found.

The rabbit, dirty, disgusting, slowly moved to stand, to limp to a small puddle of water, to wash away the shame. Clean, if she could call herself that, she crawled to the throne. The dragon, who still wept, glanced her way, slowly taking in her, and let out a sound she had not heard in years: laughter, warm and full of love. His tail reached for her, pulled her to his side, his wing draping over them both. He lowered his head to hers, nuzzling it, whispering apologies and promises of protecting her from now on. He asked after her life in the wolf's clutches, but the rabbit could not bring herself to tell the truth. She lied, violet eyes not breaking contact with blue, spinning a tale of neglect. He didn't need to know.

It didn't matter now; they were reunited.

* * *

There was once a rabbit who survived an ordeal so horrible that it changed her shape; fur turned to scales, teeth into fangs, cloak and hood into a mane of feathers and wide wings. He could not tell you when the rabbit ended and when the dragon started. Life had moved on, the wolf was still dead, but dangers still lingered around every corner. He could not protect the new king with his old form, a form broken, worthless and weak. He would not allow himself to fall back, back to the shameful shape littered with scars, not when the dragon of light, his brother, held out a hand and took him to the new kingdom, where the hell of thorns was no longer, where the ground was paved in gold and two thrones stood proud. As he sat upon his throne, to the prey he was once amongst, he promised himself to never look back.

* * *

There is a dragon who was once a rabbit.


	2. Bow Down To Me

**Author's Notes:**

**This part is a NOT VAGUE description of assault upon a child, however described with the previous chapter's usage of "wolf" and "rabbit". It is vile, it is gross, and if it makes your skin crawl than I have done my job.**

* * *

Scared, helpless, nude. The rabbit, only four years of age, look up at him with watery violet eyes, arms tied above her head, to the bedpost, her thighs pushed open by another, larger, nude body. The wolf looked down at her with lustful eyes, one hand touching the rabbit's chest while the other was below, positioning, working in. A cry, so fearful, broke from the rabbit, trying to force her thighs closed, but it was far too late. Skin tore, muscles burned, and a scream broke the near silence, body writhing uncontrollably as the bed rocked harshly, heavy breathing from the monster above her.

"Bow down to me," the beast growled, "bow down to me, little rabbit."

From screams to wails, from wails to cries, from cries to whimpers, and from whimpers to soft, broken gasps. The body below had stopped moving, the once bright violet eyes now dull, lips barely apart as drool dripped out. Her body shivered on each thrust, her insides painfully hot, her mind far from reality. A warmth lapped at her face, moving to her throat, teeth teasing flesh. It felt like everything and nothing, hell overall. It was endless.

Or it seemed; when the beast moved away, a soft pssh sound accompanied, the wolf huffed his annoyance as the space between them soaked in urine as blood and semen leaked out to stain the sheets. The rabbit's legs fell limp, eyes still dead, her breathing soft.

"As I said," growled the wolf, "you will bow down to me, my little rabbit."


	3. What is in a Name?

**Author's Notes:**

**Here's where we start actually using names! To make things clear, Madoka = Mokuba, as this is prior to Mokuba realizing he is trans (just like how I didn't realize I was trans until years after abuse stopped). This chapter involves child abuse, and closer to the end, vague sexual abuse.**

* * *

What is in a name? Power? Individuality? An anchor to one's physical form?

She had a name; two, if she really thought about it, but she didn't want to think about it. When she thought about it, she had to think about when those names were used, whose voice called them out, the meaning behind them. Only one name, her true name, was still pure, but even that was dirtying. Did she really have nothing left to call her own?

"Madoka."

His voice calls to her, and she drops to her knees. She can feel the throbbing of her pulse, the sound of blood in her veins, the way sweat drips down her face. She dares not to look up into cold, scrutinizing eyes, eyes that freeze her entire being. A hand grasps at her black crown and pulls, her body lurching forward as the man uses her hair to throw her to the ground. He is angry, not at her, but angry still. A deal gone wrong, an intern late into the office, coffee not being bitter enough; all things that drove him into a rage, a rage that could only be extinguished by blood being spilled.

"Do you know what they said to me today, Madoka?"

"No, Daddy, I do not."

"They told me that I was a genesis, a mastermind, someone worthy of praise, but did they go with my deal? NO! They said no to me! I am the greatest man to ever grace their presence and they snub me like fools!"

He throws a leg out, kicking her in the ribs, and she holds back a cry. Daddy didn't like it when she was too noisy in his bedroom.

"I'm sorry Daddy," she says softly, "I'm so sorry, you're the best man ever. I love you."

He rolls his eyes, shoves his right hand into his breast pocket to pull out a cigar and lighter, tossing the lighter beside her as he dropped into his armchair. The girl quickly forced herself onto all fours, grabbing the lighter and crawling to him. He pats his lap, and she climbs up, sitting on one leg while her hand flicks on the lighter, lighting his cigar. He takes a long drag, keeps it in, and exhales into her face. The hand laying limply on his armrest moved to grab her hips, squeezing hard enough to leave a bruise.

They were quiet, the only sounds being the inhales and exhales of the Kaiba patriarch. As his cigar came to its end, he finally spoke.

"My sweet little rabbit," his voice crooned, "you love your daddy, don't you?"

The entire tone had shifted.

"Yes, Daddy, more than anything in the world."

His laugh is cruel.

"Why don't you get on your knees and show Daddy how much you love him."

She had a name, two, but they did not belong to her. As she slid to the floor, unbuckled his belt, and pulled him from his pants, she wondered if she would ever have power, would she ever be an individual, and if she would ever feel anchored to the small body choking on her Daddy.


	4. Love and Beauty

**Author's Notes:**

**Graphic description of forced oral sex, along with touching upon the fact that Madoka/Mokuba has been conditioned into this. As someone who is working with professionals regarding their own ****conditioning****, I wanted to write about what it's like, and how it warps how you see things. Things that you don't enjoy, things you don't want, are put into your mind as "positives".**

**As always, take care when reading.**

* * *

"Good rabbit, that's right, work that pretty mouth.

Daddy looked happy; Madoka groaned as salty liquid dripped onto her tongue, brain fuzzy as she followed the role her Daddy had beaten into her. Warm fingers tangled into her black locks, clenching, tugging, pulling her further down.

"You're so beautiful," Daddy purred, "So perfect, so good for Daddy. You love your Daddy, don't you?"

Flesh met the cold air, briefly, as the girl's voice let out a small "yes," the heat returning to the tip for a kiss, "I love you Daddy, more than anything."

Warmth returned, and Gozaburo moaned, breathing heavy, hands helping the movement before forcing the child still, letting his hips thrust harshly before exhaling loudly, the music of choking and swallowing ringing in his ears. He pulled away, watching as small dribbles of white slipped past swollen red lips, a small, dirty tongue dashing out to bring her Daddy's seed back into her mouth. Madoka's eyes were hazy, body shivering, her hands, which had previously been placed on the floor to keep her steady, moving to use his thighs as an aid to stand up.

"Thank you, Daddy," she purred, "I love you so much, Daddy."

Gozaburo's hands dropped to the girl's shaking hips, squeezing.

"I want to see my pretty little rabbit perfectly, so spread those little legs and show Daddy how much you love him."


	5. Smokey Lungs

**Author's Notes:**

**This is in the present! Or future, depending, post Seto's takeover. It involves talks of collars, slightly graphic description of sexual child abuse, and choking.**

* * *

He should be over it by now, but the smoke still burned his lungs and filled every crevice of his mind. Every breath he took was calculated, every step made carefully, every sentence pondered over before passing his lips. Violet eyes watched the shadows of people around him, waiting for a dark shape to twist into the monster who stole his peace of mind.

The shadows never formed into the smoky monster, not physically, but the boy swore he still felt that icy-hot grip onto his wrists, the slimy tongue working its way up his neck, a push of something hard between his thighs. He could hear the groans and moans echo in his ears, the whispers of 'what a good little rabbit' and 'you feel so good for Daddy…' sinking deep in the darkness of his brain.

Three years has passed, yet the smoke still burned his lungs and filled every crevice of his mind. Mokuba stared blankly out of the limo's window, hands fidgeting with his locket. Occasionally the weight on his neck reminds him of the collars that used to decorate his flesh; one made of rough leather, one of silk, and one of nylon with a powerful shock. His adoring adoptive father would yank him around, hold the back of the collars as he forced him down to choke, lift him into the air, dangling him as he gasped for air. The man's other hand would go low, cupping the place between his thighs before shoving fingers inside violently, nails scraping already injured flesh, warm blood trickling down to his wrist.

Mokuba flinches violently, out from his thoughts, hastily pulling his locket over his head to stare at it in his hands without that weight, to remind himself that this locket, the item that connected him and his brother, was made with love. It wasn't…it wasn't like what Daddy made him wear. It will never be like what his Daddy made him wear.

"Master Mokuba, are you alright?"

Mokuba looked up, to the small window that separated the driver and himself. He pulled in a deep breath, exhaling it slowly.

"I'm fine, thank you. It felt like I had a spider crawling on my neck, it was just the string rubbing a weird way. You know me, jumpy."

The driver laughed, and Mokuba put back his calm façade.

The smoke still burned his lungs and filled every crevice of his mind.


End file.
